The flagstones of the Red Wall Plaza still bore traces of yesterday's blood, now covered by a dense crowd.
Twenty wooden ballot boxes were lined along the edge of the plaza, each carved with the sun emblem of a different district. An old woman, who once brewed wine for slave masters, trembled as she dropped her wooden token into a box. Her grandson clung to the edge of the box, his fingers repeatedly tracing the four charcoal-written characters: "freedom Assembly." Illyrio stood on the steps of the council hall, watching Missandei register voters with three youths. The rustling sound of the pen on parchment disturbed him more than the war drums of yesterday.
"The fishermen from the eastern district are upset," Grey Worm's footsteps interrupted his thoughts. The Unsullied commander's armor had been polished bright again, but the dents on his pauldrons were still visible. "They say the representatives chosen are all craftsmen and don't understand the difficulties of salt drying and fishing."
Illyrio followed his gaze. Indeed, a group of barefoot men had gathered on the east side of the plaza. The leading fisherman was waving his net, arguing loudly, his spittle splashing onto a nearby baker's apron. Daenerys had already walked over, Drogon landing on a stone pillar behind her, his black wings half-spread, looking both like a display of power and a protective stance.
"We elect representatives to speak for everyone, not just leaders who only care about their own trade," Daenerys's voice was not loud, yet it cut through the noisy discussions. "If the fishermen's demands are not heard, we will hold another district meeting tomorrow until you elect someone you trust." She raised her hand and stroked the fisherman's rough hand. "freedom is not learned overnight, just as the Unsullied don't learn to fight for themselves in a day."
The fishermen's commotion gradually subsided. Illyrio watched this scene and suddenly remembered a Targaryen Family manuscript he had found in his tent last night—Maegor I ruled the kingdom with dragons and torture, while Daenerys was patiently building a different kind of throne. He was about to step forward when Kohol galloped from the direction of the harbor, his horse's mane still flecked with sea salt.
"The envoy from Yunkai is here!" Kohol's shout startled the sparrows under the eaves. "He's at the harbor, with ten carts of gold, saying he wants to see the Mother of Dragons."
Daenerys and Illyrio exchanged glances, both seeing wariness in the other's eyes. Jhaqo's letter only mentioned the Second Sons, not an envoy. They hurried towards the harbor, and from a distance, they saw a merchant ship flying Yunkai's purple banner docked at the pier. A fat man in a silk robe stood on the deck, a necklace inlaid with emeralds around his neck.
"Great Mother of Dragons, wise Liberator!" The fat man bowed obsequiously upon seeing Daenerys, the fat on his belly creasing. "I am Mollo, envoy of the Wise Masters, here to offer a small gift—fifty carts of gold, twenty swift ships, only asking that you spare Yunkai and sail west soon." He clapped his hands, and two slaves opened cargo boxes, the dazzling golden light making the surrounding Dothraki gasp.
Illyrio noticed that Mollo's peripheral vision constantly darted towards Drogon, his fingers fidgeting nervously in his sleeve. "Since the Wise Masters are so sincere, why haven't they broken all the chains?" He stepped forward, deliberately blocking Daenerys. "Or are these gold pieces exchanged for newly captured slaves?"
Mollo's smile froze on his face: "Misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding." He pulled a scroll of parchment from his sleeve. "The Wise Masters have already agreed to release half the slaves, as long as you…"
"Half?" Daenerys suddenly laughed, her laughter carrying a bone-chilling coldness. "Just like they only gave half the food to make slaves work back then?" She pointed to the wreckage of the slave ships in the harbor—they had been burned during the liberation of Astapor, and the charred wooden planks still floated on the waves. "Tell those Wise Masters: either smash all the shackles, or wait for my dragonflame to burn through their city walls."
Mollo's face instantly turned pale. Drogon seemed to understand Daenerys's words, suddenly spitting a small fireball that grazed Mollo's head, singeing a lock of his hair. The envoy screamed and scrambled back onto his ship, the sails hastily raised, even forgetting to take the gold.
"They are testing our bottom line," Illyrio kicked the gold at his feet. "The offering of gold is false; they want to delay for the Second Sons to prepare." He remembered Jhaqo's description in the letter: the Second Sons were the fiercest mercenaries in the Eastern Continent, numbering only three thousand, yet they had once defeated a Dothraki Khalasar against superior numbers.
Daenerys bent down and picked up a gold ingot, her fingertips tracing the cold metal surface: "Then we won't let them have their way." She turned to Kohol and ordered, "Have the Dothraki Riders prepare. We leave in three days. The Unsullied will be commanded by Grey Worm, and the Red Robe Tribe cavalry will bring up the rear."
"Yunkai's walls are stronger than Astapor's, and with the Second Sons stationed there, a frontal assault will result in heavy casualties," Illyrio led her to the sand table, his finger pointing to the river valley west of Yunkai. "There's a secret waterway here, opened by escaping slaves back then, which leads directly to the weakly defended South Gate. I'll take ten Blood Riders to infiltrate ahead of time and coordinate with the frontal assault."
Daenerys, however, shook her head, placing her hand on the waterway marker on the sand table: "It's too dangerous; the Second Sons' scouts are surely patrolling nearby." She looked at Rhaegal and Viserys circling in the sky. The two young dragons were chasing seagulls, their wings significantly stronger than half a month ago. "Let the dragons scout ahead. Rhaegal's ice flame can freeze the outposts, and Viserys's fire can create chaos."
That night, the results of the freedom Assembly vote were tallied. Among the twelve representatives were blacksmiths, farmers, former slave soldiers, and the fisherman Daenerys had comforted. As they swore their oaths in the council hall, Illyrio was in his tent fitting improved iron tips onto spears—he had borrowed designs from modern weaponry, sharpening the originally blunt spearheads and carving out blood grooves.
"Can these spears pierce the Second Sons' armor?" Missandei walked in, holding an oil lamp, its light illuminating the worry in her eyes. "I heard their armor is forged from valyrian steel fragments."
"Even if they can't pierce it, they can cause impact injuries," Illyrio lifted a spear to test its weight. "More importantly is the strategy—Grey Worm has already divided the Unsullied into three echelons: the first holds shields for defense, the second uses spears to thrust, and the third throws fire pots. This is the tactic we refined in Astapor, and it should be effective against mercenaries." He paused, then pulled a small cloth pouch from his pocket. "Here, this is for you. It contains charcoal and flint. Light it for help if you encounter danger."
Missandei took the pouch, her fingertips gently tracing the sun emblem embroidered on it. Suddenly, a dragon's roar came from outside the tent. They ran out to see Viserys swooping down from the sky, a fox in his mouth, excitedly wagging his tail. Daenerys stood in the open, directing Rakharo to count provisions. The Red Robe Tribe warriors sharpened their captured scimitars to a gleam, and under the bonfire's glow, anticipation filled every face.
On the morning of the third day, Astapor's city gates slowly opened. Eight thousand Unsullied formed neat phalanxes, their spears like a forest; three thousand Dothraki Riders rode on swift horses, their arakhs glinting in the sunlight; five thousand Red Robe Tribe cavalry followed closely, their red cloaks flapping in the wind. Daenerys rode Silver Wind at the forefront, Drogon circling above her, while Rhaegal and Viserys perched on the supply carts on either side.
Illyrio walked alongside Grey Worm, watching the Red Walls gradually recede behind them. The ballot boxes in the plaza had been removed, replaced by a newly erected stone tablet inscribed with "freedom belongs to the people." Missandei stood at the city gate, waving goodbye. Her younger brother held the captured short sword, saluting in imitation of a soldier.
"When we return, we'll teach you how to use a real sword," Illyrio shouted to the boy.
The boy nodded vigorously, tears streaming down his cheeks, yet smiling brilliantly.
The army advanced along the coastline, reaching an abandoned waystation by noon. Kohol's scouts reported finding a Second Sons camp ten miles ahead, with about five hundred mercenaries on patrol. Illyrio climbed the waystation's watchtower and observed through a spyglass—those mercenaries were indeed as fierce as rumored, all bare-chested, with snake tattoos on their arms, and human skull trophies hanging from their waists.
"Proceed as planned," Daenerys's voice came from below the tower. She blew the silver whistle she carried, and Rhaegal immediately soared into the sky, his ice-blue dragonflame cutting through the air like a sword, instantly freezing the distant patrol outpost. Viserys followed closely, his crimson tongue of fire igniting the camp tents, sending thick smoke billowing upwards.
"Charge!" Kohol drew his arakh, and the Dothraki Riders surged forward like a tide. The Second Sons mercenaries clearly hadn't expected a surprise attack. In their panic, they raised their shields to defend but were pushed back repeatedly by the horse hooves. Illyrio, with the Blood Riders, circled to the side of the camp, using the improved spears to pierce the tent poles, injuring the mercenaries inside who were donning their armor.
The battle ended quickly. The captured mercenary leader cursed, spitting blood, saying the Second Sons' captain would make Daenerys pay a bloody price. Grey Worm was about to order his execution but was stopped by Illyrio.
"Have you met the Second Sons' captain?" Illyrio squatted down, using his spear to prod the leader's tattooed arm. "What kind of man is he?"
The leader stiffened his neck and remained silent until Drogon spat a fireball that landed at his feet, scaring him into trembling: "It's…it's Daario Naharis! He only cares about money. If you give him more than Yunkai, he'll switch sides!"
Illyrio and Daenerys exchanged glances, both seeing understanding in the other's eyes. Jhaqo's letter hadn't mentioned Daario's name, but Illyrio remembered that name—in another version of the story, this mercenary leader eventually became Daenerys's lover.
"Take him away and guard him well," Daenerys ordered. "We continue our advance tomorrow, reaching the walls of Yunkai before dark."
That night, the army camped in the river valley. Illyrio was explaining the siege plan to Daenerys when Rhaegal suddenly roared anxiously, his wings repeatedly beating the ground. In the distance, in the darkness, faint sounds of horse hooves and clashing metal could be heard.
"It's a night raid by the Second Sons!" Grey Worm immediately raised his spear, and the Unsullied quickly formed a phalanx.
But the sound of hooves stopped outside the camp. A loud voice pierced the night sky: "I am Daario Naharis! I have come to negotiate with the Mother of Dragons!"
Illyrio tightened his grip on his spear, while Daenerys signaled everyone to lower their weapons. Drogon flew out of the darkness, his dragonflame illuminating the figure of the newcomer—a man with golden hair and blue eyes, wearing black leather armor, two curved arakhs tucked into his belt, and a cynical smile on his lips.
"I heard you gave the Wise Masters of Yunkai a choice," Daario walked up to Daenerys, meeting her gaze fearlessly. "Now I give you another choice: hire the Second Sons. We'll help you breach Yunkai, and our payment will only be half of what the Wise Masters promised."
Daenerys smiled, raising her hand to stroke Drogon's scales: "My payment is not gold." She pointed towards Yunkai in the distance. "It's the freedom of all the slaves there. If you want payment, then take your men and fight for freedom."
Daario's smile froze on his face, then slowly broadened again. He drew an arakh from his waist and cut off a lock of his golden hair: "Deal. But if I find you're lying, this blade will be the first to pierce your heart."
Illyrio watched Daario's retreating back, suddenly feeling that the course of this war was more bizarre than any version he remembered. Daenerys walked to his side, looking up at the starry sky: "Tomorrow, we will see the walls of Yunkai."
"Tomorrow, we will smash the shackles there," Illyrio responded.
The night wind swept through the river valley, bringing the scent of Yunkai and the hope of freedom. The campfires burned brightly, reflecting on the sleeping faces of the soldiers, on the curled figures of the young dragons, and on the determined eyes of the two young people.
The walls of Yunkai awaited ahead, and their journey had just embarked on its most crucial step.